The Elderscrolls Champion
by BD99
Summary: Caracia is a wealthy and well known Imperial family within every province of Tamriel. Beneath their reputation lay the Pits where gold is wasted, blood is spilt and lives are taken. Among the best Gladiators of Caracia who will rise to become one of the most savage the arenas have ever seen? From the Ashes of Slavery a champion shall rise. R
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 – Life

Savage. Wild beasts created out of Man and mer. The Gladiators were but animals in the eyes of the hungry viewers. No better than the wolf who howled to the moon, or the Skeeva that infested the ratways of Riften. A gladiator was property, owned by a fellow man or forced into indentured servitude when they could not pay their debts. All across Tamriel the crowds howled for blood and battle, they demanded lives be taken for their entertainment and wealth. It was a way the wealthy became wealthier, the poor became poorer, and the broke became slaves who in turn became corpses in the Arena. Blood soaked the sands where legends walked, legends that had arisen from the ashes of many lives. Legends who had fallen from such heights as to have been lucky not to perish, only to rise on the wings of blood and vengeance. It did not matter where they had come from, or what crimes they had committed, what deeds they had done. Every Gladiator was considered fresh meet when they entered the arena, and for many they did not reach a higher rank. For many their first time in the Arena was the last, and those who survived faced unspeakable odds. That was just what the Arena was. A wasteland of death, a pit of injustice. Unforgiving.

…..

It was in the ratways she woke, gasping for air as the water splashed down her skin. It was as if she had been bathed in ice shards, which in essence she was. For days she had sat in darkness, awaiting her fate like a good little slave. It smelt of salt and the sea, or rather, what she imagined the sea would smell like. Her mother had told her stories of waters that spanned further than the eye could see. Water that had things called waves, walls of water with white tops that surged through the water like galloping horses. Her mother had often told her stories, stories of nature and the wonders of the Daedra. She had been told so much and yet she knew so little. She was barely a teenager and she had never known her wrists without chains, never known what it was like to feel soft sheets around her body or fine clothes. She barely knew the taste of meat. All her life she had lived in chains, serving abusive masters as a young maiden. She had managed to sneak food from the scraps thrown to the dog; it was by stealing a gnawed bone from the dog's kennel that she had been able to sneak mouthfuls of meat. Her mother had been a better thief, stealing bit of jewellery and trading them for food. Her mother had never shared much food with her, stating that she needed to stash most of it. They had been caught when her mother's rapid weight gain had been noticed by the Kennel Master's son.

"Throw the bitch in" a rough voice grunted. She barely had a moment to breathe before her chains were tugged, and she felt the familiar pull on her wrist. Her shackles had rubbed her skin raw, and it appeared irritated. Her scrawny body had bruises all over her greyish skin from the beatings she had endured. The new men who had bought her were not nice. They ignored her skin; they ignored her needs and smell. She was no longer bathed when her smell became offensive; she was simply left to rot in a cage. Still, the cage she was sitting in was large enough for her to kneel, although she couldn't straighten her legs or stand up. It was slightly bigger than the box she had been transported in. She had no idea where she was, where they were keeping her or what for, only that she didn't like it and she wanted to go home.

"Please. Please can I have some water?" she begged, voice croaking from her dry throat. She did her best to speak clearly, gulping back tears as she was pulled out of the box. Her muscles were cramping, and standing up felt like a new form of torture all over again. She blinked as she saw torchlight in the corner of her vision, burning brighter than the stars in the clear night skies. The stars. So beautiful and so free. She always looked to the stars for hope, knowing such things were beyond slavery, beyond being chained like animals and treated like dirt. The stars were untouchable, and they would shine for mortals forever. Oh, how she hoped she would see the stars again. She hoped she could look through the bars to her window and see those beautiful shining stars one last time.

"Shut up, whore!" The guard growled, drawing his hand back. Before anyone could say anything he brought his hand across her face, the harsh sound of his hand connecting with her cheek filling the air. She her head was thrown by the strike and she stumbled into the wall. Her hands were still chained, and her arms were pulled towards the light. She contained her whimper of pain and fear, knowing they would only encourage her master's men to strike her again. The ground was cold beneath her cramping feet, and she had to fight for her balance with her toes curling. The men dragged her ahead, forcing her to break into a run to keep up. Her plea for water was ignored. She began to hear the sounds of cheering, chanting of a single word. Life. The chant was an overpowering roar, coupled with stomping feet to the beat of the rough voices and screaming. She shuddered as she was pushed through the door, straight into the light.

It was a pit dug into the ground, almost as high as a man standing on another man's shoulders. Along the edges were spikes, giant wooden spikes that had been crudely carved into sharp, uneven points. The lower ones were coated in blood, as if people had been thrown onto them. She looked to the dirt of the pit and saw more blood soaked into the ground. Her heart beat faster and faster as she was led along the edge of the pit, which was fenced off from a higher area where people stood, huddled together to get closer to the action. Eventually she was thrown into a cage, a rather large cage with an earth ramp leading down into the pit. She suddenly wondered why she was here, why the people were cheering for her blood. There were other men and women in the cage, all huddled fearfully together. She noticed their wrists were bare, although they bore the scars of chains. She swallowed her fear as she felt the men who had led her to the cage undoing her shackles, offering her freedom before death. Her chains fell away quickly, and she winced as the air hit her irritated wrists. She rubbed them on instinct, only wincing as she caused herself more pain. She walked closer to the pit, gazing in at the Elf standing in the middle.

He was a Woodelf, tall for his kind and lean. He had the appearance of a man who spent a lot of time running and striking, not that of a warrior. His skin was a golden tan, hidden beneath the rivers of blood running down his chest to the underwear he was wearing. He had the typical fine features of his race. A pointed yet long chin leading up into a fine jaw and a perfectly sized mouth. His cheekbones were high, his cheeks neither full nor gaunt. His nose caught attention, sharp and small. His eyes were also small, a rich earthy colour. His brow was high and fleet, leading up his forehead into his crazy blonde hair that stood up as if it were a dead animal plonked on his head.

"Life. Life! Life! Life!" The chant came as a giant orchestra of screams and growls from both powerful voices and womanly screeches alike. She could see everyone cheering, throwing his or her fists up into the air in time with the chant that filled the pit with a monstrous roar. She looked around, terrified of what she saw. On one side there was a section that was higher than the rest, a section where several well-dressed men and women sat. Eventually a red and golden robed Nord male rose from his chair, ignoring a displeased looking High Elf male who seemed to be trying to keep him in a chair. The cheering went silent as he held his fist out with his thumb level with the ground. It was as if his gesture meant everything. The Woodelf in the pit looked terrified and enraged at the same time as he glared at the Highelf, as if daring the Elf to make a move. The look of hatred in both of their eyes was undeniable, and it sent chills down her spine. The Woodelf's expression also said something else. It said _I won_.

"For his prowess in the pit we grant this Woodelf, this Danarus… Life" The Nord spoke in a booming voice. The crowd went wild, cheers filling the arena. The Highelf slumped back in his chair, jaw tensed as if biting back several curses. Guards walked into the pit, weapons drawn as they approached. Once in the pit one stepped forwards, binding the Elf's wrists together once again before they led him out. In his place two men walked out, one dressed in heavy steel armor and the other dressed in leather. They were both Orcs, as fair as she could tell.

"Now, we bring you a special treat. The Gro-Gludu siblings against six slaves! Who will prevail and earn their lives in the Arena?" The Nord cried out, gesturing to the cage. She flinched as the cage was opened, and the other slaves forced themselves past her to get into the arena. She found herself swept up in a storm of bodies as they ran down the ramp, screaming like wild animals howling at a bloody moon. She tripped on the ramp, screaming in fright as she fell to the ground. Her chin hit the hard earth, bouncing and causing her to bite the inside of her mouth. She gathered lay there motionless for a moment, winded from the collision. The other slaves simply ran around her, each intent on survival in the arena by their own hand.

Three men rushed at the steel glad Orc, each with theirs fists raised. The Orc did not feel fear, instead he laughed at the slaves, knowing their attempts would be pathetic at best. The first one threw a punch at him, stumbling forwards as if he were drunk. The orc sidestepped, ignoring the man at his back as he faced the other two slaves. A second lunged, throwing another pathetic attempt at a punch. The Orc swung his arm, knocking the fist aside before he delivered a bone shattering punch of his own to the face of the slave. Blood flew as metal collided and tore through flesh. The orc continued through his blow, lashing out and kicking the third slave back. He then grabbed the second slave by the head and twisted, violently breaking his neck and ending a life. The crowd roared as he turned back to the Third slave and kicked him again, sending him flying to the ground. He quickly leapt at the slave, bringing his knee up as he flew through the air. He brought his foot down on the Slave's neck, again ending a life before the battle could truly begin. The Orc lifted his hands into the air in triumph, drawing cries from the crowd. A sword was thrown in, a sword the Orc did not see. The slave picked it up and charged at the Orc, driving the blade into his underarm before the orc realised it. The crowd continued to cheer as the Orc fell, leaving the other Orc against four other men.

The sword wielding slave quickly charged two of the other slaves, slashing them across the neck as they turned to celebrate his victory. Another weapon was thrown into the pit, one which the second Orc snatched up. He quickly pressed the attack on the slave, striking at him with an overhead blow. The head of the mace came down on the slave's arm, and the sound of bones breaking filled the air. The slave's scream was drowned out by the screaming of the crowd. Some women's clothing fell open, revealing their breasts to the open air. Nobody paid the nudity any attention, nobody cared about anything but the fighters in the pit and the coin they had wagered. The Orc threw his shoulder into the slave, sending the slave stumbling back. The orc continued with the strike, spinning and driving his elbow into the slave's nose. As the slave tried to retreat the Orc simply brought the mace down with a massive overhead blow. Blood erupted everywhere as the mace crushed the Slave's head. His body twitched as it fell and hit the sands, signalling a victory.

"One yet lives!" the announcer cried loudly, pointing to the remaining Darkelf and the only female who had entered the Arena.

She looked up, her face covered in dust and tears. She stared at the Orc, a shadow approaching at a steady pace. The light caught across the head of the mace, shining in her eyes as blood dripped from the iron. She began to tremble as she forced herself to get to her feet, ignoring all the pain in her body. Her body was protesting as she went down the ramp, blood red eyes flicking around the pit as she tried to find a way to escape. When the Orc drew closer she realised there was nothing she could do. Nothing would help her survive this harsh environment, nothing but killing. She broke into a run, trying to get to the other end of the arena and to escape the orc. The orc lunged at her, striking for her kneecaps. She thoughtlessly leapt, her foot catching the Orc's face and sending him tumbling to the ground. She also fell, landing on the hard ground with a thud. She yelled in pain as she hit the ground, drawing more cheers from the crowd. The orc groaned as he got to his feet, bending to pick up the mace before he began to advance on the Darkelf. Her eyes widened in fear as she looked and saw him coming, and then she saw it. A shine caught her eye, and right in front of her just out of her reach was a sword. She began to scramble, pulling her body through the dust, grime and blood to reach her only chance of survival. The orc was on top of her before she knew it, ready to bring the mace down to end her life. Cold steel beneath her fingers. Desperation. A feral scream as she turned and lashed out… and then the world was red.

**AN: I know I am terribly annoying with all these stories, but they are attacking me non stop until I write them. I guess creativity is a cruel master at times. Anyways, for the time being this is an unspecified time and will range many different places and my take on them. I will be posting this on deviantart as well, along with screenshots and other things relating to the story. My Deviantart is EvoedBD.  
I am continuing on ALL my elderscrolls stories, so if you are reading one then by all means don't think I am abandoning it. I plan to update as soon as I write, which I give myself a max of two weeks per chapter. For Vale I am taking longer as I am finding time to play through the Dragonborn DLC with school as well.**

This chapter was written to the song Born Like This by Three Days Grace.


	2. Chapter 2 – Purchase

Chapter 2 – Purchase

She stared in amazement at the face of the Orc, surprised with blood pouring from his mouth. She could feel warm liquid all over her body, soaking into her clothing and settling in the dips of her body. She cringed as she felt the liquid creeping down her stomach, slowly oozing down her chest and chin. She could feet the hot, thick liquid gathering, dripping down her body and staining her. It was as if her purity and innocence were being drowned out in a slow flood of red, supported by the roaring of the demonic crowd. The orc's body slid sideways, tearing the golden sword from her hands as she lay there in shock. She had just committed the most terrible crime any soul could commit. She had defied the gods, disobeyed Arkay's lore of life and death. She had just taken a life. She scrambled to her feet, fighting against collapsing as she trembled like a newborn foal on its first legs. She looked up to the stand, staring into the faces as the Elf before her had. She trembled as the Nord stuck his hand out, thumb once again level with the floor. She was aware she was shaking violently and feeling as if she would throw up. She was covered in blood. She had killed. Divines forgive her, she had killed.

"For her survival in the Arena we grant R'en life" he said simply, turning it so his thumb was pointing upwards. She blinked in amazement as the crowd began to cheer loudly, chanting the name the Nord had given her on the spot.

"R'en! R'en! R'en!" Over and over again the name was chanted, yet it had no meaning to her. She didn't fight for her name, after all that had been given to her by her new masters as well. She knew the crowd expected her to put a show on. To raise her hands and cheer like a wild animal with them. She simply couldn't. Everything felt blurred and far away, and she reached for the sword, pulling it out of the body. The orc's body jolted as the sword was pulled free, as if he had been clinging to the last of his life. R'en embraced the new name, and she clung to the cold sword as if her life depended on it. For all she knew her life would depend on it, and she was unwilling to part with the blade she had committed such a crime with. She deserved to be haunted by this crime for the rest of her life, or at least until someone tore the weapon from her grasp. Guards came in and grabbed her, one of them taking the sword roughly from her grasp as the other chained her and dragged her away, forcing her to leave the admiration of the screaming crowd behind.

…

"That Elf put up an impressive fight" he noted, sitting back in his chair. Barvo Caracia was an Imperial, a man known for taking risks and succeeding where others would fail. He wore fine robes, with a dagger at his belt. His neck was adorned with many fine jewels and golden chains in a masculine fashion. Unlike his wife however he did not cover himself in expensive pieces, only enough to present the illusion of absolute wealth and power. His companion at the fights was different however. She wore Iron armor, with a sword on one hip and a waraxe on the other. She occasionally switched out for a mace although that was more when she had fought. Braesa had once been a fighter, until she had performed a feat of questionable legend. Unwilling to ruin her reputation she had become a guard for her master, as well as a trainer of his fighters. His gladiators.

Barvo Caracia was not a particularly handsome man, but he was not the ugliest man in the pits either. His chin was squared and somewhat blunt, angling out along a short jaw. His lips were small, hidden under a long moustache of dark, coarse hair. His nose was neither small nor large, neither pointed nor blunt. His cheekbones were high, his eyes dark and large and his brow high and wide. He was balding, with a fine layer of short hair as the only protection for the naked skin of his head.

Braesa was an aging Redguard woman, although her face did not betray as much. Her face was a blunt heart shape, with a square, blunt chin working up on the fine angle of her jaw to wide, high cheekbones. Her brow was somewhat wide yet neither high nor low. Her small, dark eyes were shadowy orbs that matched her dark chocolate skin. Her hair was white, shaved along the sides of her hair while a moahawk of dredlocks sat atop her head. Her hair was growing back, giving her an aged appearance, yet her face only bore a few lines and scars to prove it. Many said she was blessed by the gods, others said she was secretly a Necromancer draining the life from the pits. Either way, nobody dared mess with her.

"I'd call that luck over a fight, Master Caracia" she spoke, her voice deep for a female and wise. Barvo looked down at the pit, watching the girl tremble in fear and shock as she got to her feet. Braesa noticed that the woman didn't seem to flinch with the weight of the blade; she simply had never killed before. The Redguard highly doubted that the little Darkelf had even drawn somebody's blood before. She pitied the girl for having to go through such an ordeal. She felt for the girl having to kill and be bathed in blood literally. Most of all, she pitied the girl for living. Now she would be thrown into the situation again, forced to fight for her life. She would likely die a painful death, and if her body didn't die it would be her mind that would perish.

"Maybe you're right, Braesa, but that doesn't mean she couldn't be skilled" Barvo answered, rubbing his chin in thought. Braesa stared at him for a moment, her expression falling once she recognised the expression on his face, the look in his eye. He was about to take a risk, he was seriously considering taking a risk on the Dark Elf. He turned to look at her, eyes thoughtful and expression serious.

"Go check the Elven Stock while we have the chance" He ordered, turning his attention to the HighElf. He knew of this man. Faeour was an Elf of high standing among the patrons of the pits and of the Cyrodiil Arena alike. He was a man with fine tastes in fighters, and a man who relentlessly punished his enemies. Barvo had noticed the looks shared between Danarus and Faeour, and he realised an opportunity when he saw one. If he could buy Danarus for a small amount of coin he could use him as leverage over Faeour. He could use the WoodElf to gain favour among the Highest ranking members of the Pits, and if someone up high owed him a favour he could enter fights to fill his purse and continue providing for his beautiful wife.

"Vilenia won't like me leaving you alone" Braesa shook her head, denying the order as best she could. She never wanted to harm her master in any way, not after he had kept her after what she viewed as a failure. Her body bore the scars of that fight, and Barvo bore the reputation stain of granting her life. The crowds had been divided, many cheered for her for having survived so long in such a deadly fight, others howled for her blood because a Gladiator should never surrender. She was also grateful they had not bred her. It was common knowledge that the best female gladiators did not last long in the pits before they were bred to males, expected to bare children who would also do well in the pits and earn their masters coin. Barvo had never even considered that for Braesa, and that was not because of her skill. She had been a legend.

"My wife will not care so long as I remain uninjured and bring home investments that will let her live her luscious lifestyle. You would do well to remember your place, Braesa" Barvo said, turning his attention to the Redguard once again. She stood for a moment, staring at the Imperial as if he had several heads sprouting from his shoulders. She then lowered her eyes, bowing her head in respect.

"It shall be done, Master Caracia"

…

Hands. Hands everywhere. Stroking her. Caressing her. Grabbing at her muscles. Fingers running through her unruly hair. The blood had not been washed from her body even as her outer layer of clothing had been stripped from her form. The hands that inspected her for their master were both rough and cold, armor and flesh alike spreading the evidence of her sins across her bare flesh. Some touches were soft and curious, it was those touches she relaxed to, even allowed herself to imagine she had some worth to. Then there were the touches of men, interested in her blood covered body for their pleasures. It was those touches she shied away from, resisted with all the power her mind could conjure. She was used to such touches, such expectations. She was used to everything. Even as a young woman she was a slave, a DarkElf many considered somewhat attractive. For a slave she was considered exotic, something wild and untamed to be broken in as one might break a horse. The chains around her wrists that held her obedience need not be there, for she was already broken. A lifetime of servitude only to be split from the bright things in her life, her family… such a fate would break any woman.

"Covered skin is not to be touched until purchase, sir" One of the Guards spoke up, stepping forwards. R'en kept her eyes tightly closed as she felt the hand on her lower stomach, about to slip lower than permitted. It would not be the first time someone had violated her privacy, her body and her rights. The hand was yanked away by the guard, and another stepped forwards to inspect her. It was a Redguard woman with a stern, thoughtful expression. She took her iron gauntlets off quickly, making R'en take a quick, panicked breath. When Iron gauntlets came off the touch was normally rough and violent. It was usually Brutes looking for something to take to a well-behaved slaves bed. She had been bought for this once, and her mind still bore the scars of how poorly she had been treated before she had been bought as a serving girl.

"Relax girl" The woman's voice was scary, deep and strong. R'en found herself obeying, her muscles relaxing as the woman inspected her. Strong hands grabbed her arms, measuring her strength and condition before running down her shoulders and back. R'en didn't try to look over her shoulders; she had given up on doing that since she had been beaten as a six year old for the said action. She simply stood, trying to relax in the chains as the woman ran her hands down her back. R'en flinched when her legs were grabbed, inspected for their strength. The Redguard tugged on her ankle, asking R'en to lift her leg. She obeyed, holding a leg up as the woman continued inspecting her. Pressure on her knee told her to put the leg back down, which she was all too happy to do. Once the Redguard finished her inspection R'en was led away, her chains removed before she was thrown into a solitary cage.

She scrambled into the back of her cage, hiding in the corner as she gathered her knees to her chest. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run and weep into welcoming arms. She was so afraid. So terribly afraid of what would happen to her. Many hands at this market had been rough, and many more had been yanked away from her body as they tried to take her cover skin. She shuddered as she remembered markets where she had not been covered, markets where anything and everything was welcomed to be done to her. There had been no limits to how she could be touched, how closely she could be examined. The chains there had been thicker, heavier and more than just her wrists had been chained. She was a slave, of no worth beyond the pleasures and luxury she could bring to her masters, and to their beloved. She closed her eyes tightly, fighting against the tears streaming down her face as she concealed a whimper. She closed her eyes for but a moment, but a moment turned into longer, as it always would when exhaustion of the body was mixed with exhaustion of the mind.

She screamed as a warm hand touched her bare shoulder, waking her from her sleep. It was a soft shake to the shoulder that made her realise that she wasn't being snatched from her cage, that she still had the safety of steel between her and the crowd of lustful, hateful bidders who would see her slavery continued until her death. She leapt away from the hand, scrambling backwards. She felt the pull in the back of her arms as she lifted her body and pushed backwards against the dust of the ground below, she winched each time her foot slipped and her heel hit the ground instead of digging into it, yet she continued until she felt the cold steel of the bars against her back. When another arm reached through the bars and wrapped around her face she did the first thing that came to her mind, she followed instinct. Her teeth closed around the man's flesh and she bit down until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. The man behind her screamed, tearing his arm from her jaws as she rolled forwards so she was out of the man's reach then crawled into the first corner once again. Out of the two touches it was the preferable one. It seemed the least threatening.

"Hey. Its ok, girl. I have no ill will towards you" A soft male voice said. It was rich and earthy in some ways, the voice of a man who spent his time singing in the wilds of Tamriel. She turned to look at the man and instantly recognised the Elf from the pits. Danarus they had called him.

"I… I recognise you. Danarus" She said in a low voice. She knew talking among slaves was not all ways appreciated, but at the same time she needed the comfort. She needed to know she was still alive, still a Dunmer and not a common piece of shit left in a cage to rot.

"My name is Endrayus" Danarus responded in a determined tone of voice. His voice betrayed his anger at being called a name that was not his. His warm, earthy eyes shone with absolute fury. These people had taken him from his land, imprisoned, and beaten him until they had sent him into the pit to die.

"Your name is what they tell you it is, Danarus" R'en retorted without pause. She paused, realising how her voice had sounded, what she must look like. A rabbit trapped in a cage between the fox and the wolf, and she had chosen to go and face the wolf. Danarus was every inch a wolf, quick and nimble with deceptive strength that would let him cleave a man's head off with a dagger. Danarus had proven himself an animal in the pits, defeating three men. She had seen their bodies dragged to the edges by men as the guards had escorted him out, although her attention had mostly been on the Bosmer himself. Now she snapped at him, after moments ago being scared and fleeing.

"I take it this isn't new for you then. Slavery? Your life in another's hands?" he asked, voice softening yet again. R'en looked at him, noticing him truly for the first time. Sweat, blood and dust clung to his muscular body, running from a cut along his peck muscle. He truly was an animal, in appearance as well as skill. She knew without a doubt he would be kept alive, if for nothing more than a noble woman to star at him as if he were a statue. At most, they would want children from such stock to provide future slaves. She nodded at the man, doing her best to ignore how attractive he was at the time. She had never looked at men as attractive, but there was a certain charm about the Elf that drew her eye.

"I..." she began.

"Bring the Dark Elf. Somebody has paid a high price for her" the Guard growled, throwing the doors to her cage open. She was dragged out by the ankle, without chains being placed upon her. She kicked and screamed as her body was dragged along the ground, treated as if she were nothing. She could hear the laughter and appreciating whistles from the other slaves, along with Danarus screaming at them to stop. She was eventually let go, only to have a guard leap on top of her. No! they were going to take her again. They were going to have their fun with her first. She struggled, crying and pleading as they put her chains on but nobody came to her air. She remained helpless as the chains were put on her, and she was rolled into a crate.

"Let me out!" She cried, although she knew it was futile. The light shone across her skin one last time as the side was placed against the crate, and then the darkness claimed her. She was alone and helpless, trapped inside such a small space she barely had room to lift her cheek from her knee. She knew better than to try and claw her way out, or to make another sound. She would be punished if she alerted any of the City Guards to her presence in the crate. She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks as the sound of a hammer hitting a nail filled her ears, the tiny metallic ring as the nails were driven deeper into the wood, and her fate carved into the stones of time.

There was well and truly no escape for her now.


	3. Chapter 3 - Welcome to the Brotherhood

Chapter 3 – Meeting the Brotherhood

She groaned weakly as she was freed from the crate. The light was burning in her eyes, hurting as if she had alcohol sprayed in her eyes. She blinked a few times, allowing her eyes to adjust a little to the blinding light before she looked around, noticing the golden candle light glowing off the walls. She turned her head to see barrels and crates against the wall, yet none were marked as hers had been. Without a doubt she knew she was the only new slave, or at least the only one who had been transported this way. She didn't fight as she was pulled from the crate, she simply let her body relax and go limp. It was more effort for the guards but it was easier on her body. She knew after being contained for so long her legs would be stiff, and movement would be like the fires of Oblivion claiming her body from the toes up in a slow, creeping, forever lasting fire. She felt her toes drag along the ground as the guards walked her out, dragging her down the dark stone halls. The torches burning on the walls granted little light for her to see, but she was more focused on finding her feet.

"By Talos, this wench is heavy. I can only hope the wild beasts like her" The guard on her left groaned. The other laughed, a strained sound as he lifted her a little higher.

"Damn right. They are like wild beasts down there. I wonder how Braesa keeps them in line"

"By opening her legs and welcoming their cocks?" The first suggested.

"Don't let Braesa hear you say that. That bitch may be retired but she survived against some of the strongest Gladiators and pit fighters alike. She must have breasts of steel to survive a sword across the chest"

The men continued their banter as they dragged her through the halls. At first she was greeted by the smells of roasting meat and vegetables. The aroma of baking bread and the faint, misty white light coming through the windows suggested that it was early morning. As they continued the smells of the roasting meat and freshly baked bread haunted her nose but other smells drew her attention as well. Warm, wet hair, scented baths and perfume. She looked out of the corners of her eyes at this point, seeing well-dressed women standing with women in rags, and clothing that was obviously of lesser quality. On some she saw collars, or chains. She quickly came to the conclusion there were several slaves in this building, wherever it was that it was located. It was growing colder the deeper into the building she was dragged, so she could only conclude she was in Skyrim. She had heard so much about the land, that it was a wasteland of ice and only the strong, hot-blooded Nords could survive within. The smells changed from pleasant to terrible. Where she had smelt sweet flowers she now smelt sweat and muck. The aroma of shit became stronger and stronger as she was lead down stairs and through a courtyard, into one of the smelly outbuildings. It was there she was thrown to the ground. She grunted, her ears burning with the sounds of a door being closed and locked.

"Welcome to the estate of Caracia" the Redguard spoke. R'en stared up from the ground at the woman. She was aware she was shaking under the dark eyed gaze, she was aware of how her body trembled in this woman's presence. She got to her feet slowly, keeping her gaze on the Redguard's hands and midsection. She dared not to gaze at the woman's scarred face for fear it would encourage a beating. Once she was on her feet the Redguard began walking, expecting the DarkElf to follow.

"Here we train, fight, bleed and become champions of the Pits and Arenas around Tamriel. Our master, Barvo Caracia is not the high master of his family; he simply manages a small bunch of Gladiators. You are lucky enough to be considered part of his elite. Bathe in the glory. Cherish it. Nurse it. Fuck it. I don't care, so long as you understand what is expected of you" The woman paused before a door, turning to look at R'en. Braesa almost pitied the girl, knowing how the other fighters would see her. A Small, timid rabbit that had juicy legs. They would see her as someone to pick on, to fuck with or to even fuck full stop. She shook her head, turning her gaze back to the door she was about to push open.

"I am Braesa, and I am here to forge you into a Gladiator" she announced, and with that she pushed the door open.

The stench of unwashed men, sweat, shit and mud reached her nose. She instantly screwed her nose up, wishing she could ignore the smell. The Redguard seemed indifferent to her disgust as she pushed her forwards, bringing a knife up to her hair. In an instant the sign of R'en's former status was torn from her, cut right back to the scalp in a hairstyle that was short, even for a male. R'en didn't scream or whine, she simply continued walking into the belly of the beast. She was walking past a bowl of water when she froze, walking towards it to check her reflection. She should at least be presentable when she met whoever it was she was to be given too. She froze as she stared into the water, seeing a face she no longer recognised staring back at her with dim, defeated eyes.

Her face was a blunt triangle shape, if one followed the line to the tips of her pointed ears. With a pointed chin that lead up smoothly to her luscious lips, a fine, softly angled jawline that led to her delicate ears, she had the basics to be beautiful. Her nose was a cute button, small and childlike, it was the nose you would expect to see on a young woman, not on a slave who was beaten repeatedly. It was a wonder her nose had never been broken. Her large, sweet, blood red eyes caught the attention of many, such softness sitting under an angled brow. Scars ruined one side of her face, along her jawline from the corner of her mouth to her ear. Her hair was now short and hacked, as dark as midnight on a moonless night.

"Well tongue fuck my arse, we've had a whore come early" A strong, husky voice came from behind her. R'en squawked, leaping around in fright to see the men gathered around her. She heard the sound of the bowel crashing to the ground, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She could only stare at the large man who was as naked as the day he was born.

He was Imperial, which was clear by his tanned skin. He was like a sculpture carved by the Divines themselves, muscles shining as if they had gold pained on them as they caught the light. His chin was pointed, leading into a lower jaw and long, smooth cheeks void of all hair. He had high cheekbones, sitting under harsh eyes which in turn sat under a low, heavy brow. His lips were average, expected on many Imperials. His nose however caught attention. It was large, and the bridge had clearly been broken many a time and reset into perfect position. Its thickness added to his rugged look. A moustache sat over his upper lip, styled to be thin and intimidating. Many would say it went well with his dark, savage hair that fell to his shoulders.

"I'd sooner lick Braesa's" A second voice came in. It was a thick, Nordic accent filled with joy and amusement. The man stepped up behind the Imperial, placing a large hand over the man's shoulder.

The Nord was massive, a giant named as man. His muscles were not shining, and his paler skin took away from their intimidating effect, yet R'en could see he was very defined. He had a rather blunt appearance. A wide blunt chin leading up to a wide, blunt jaw and low cheekbones. His silvery blue eyes radiated kindness and merriment, much like his soft brow. Wrinkles marred his skin, although they were faint. It softened him further. He had a rather fatherly air about him, with white hair growing along his upper lip and jaw, and a fine layer of it on his head. It had clearly been shaved back by a dagger. His nose was large, broken countless times yet never deformed. Scars also ranged his face, and R'en felt an instant connection to the man. He was safe and warm, a friend amongst enemies.

"You have a thing for the old woman, Sven?" The Imperial taunted. The Nord behind him shook his head.

"No Valus. I just know her arse would taste better than the champion of the Pit Fighters. With all the shit stored in your head, I doubt your arse would be any emptier" The Nord, Sven, retorted with a grin. R'en could only watch the men gaze at each other for a moment before their grins matched. They both chuckled, with the large handed Nord slapping Valus on the back a few times. The fighters eventually turned their attention back to R'en, who felt very much like a rabbit under the gaze of wolves. She kept her eyes up, not because she wanted to challenge them but because she did not want them in their full glory. The men seemed completely at ease with one another, which scared her more than she knew it should. She had dealt with one rough man, and knew she could quite probably endure one at a time. She didn't know how to endure two.

"Leave her be. She doesn't look like a whore. She's a slave, and she's still covered in blood. She's a gladiator, Valus" Sven noted, looking over the girl for the first time. He could see it in her. He could see a beast that could not be tamed, hiding underneath the illusion of a rabbit. He had often said that if a killer beast were disguised as a rabbit Tamriel would be doomed. A killer that looked adorable, unthreatening, and maybe even weak was the perfect chance at power. The little woman cowered, her gore covered body quivering as Sven stepped closer. He placed his large hand on her shoulder, feeling her bones beneath the skin. R'en wanted to scream, to flee from these naked titans that were touching and judging her, but she didn't. Instead, she stood under the Nord's gaze, which had softened to something of an amused father instead of a judging Gladiator inspecting a common wench.

"Welcome to the Caracia Gladiators, my friend. You stand in the baths, one of the only female Gladiators to grace these walls. That's already an achievement lass, one you should be proud of" Sven said in a friendly tone, stepping up beside her and beginning to guide her towards a low wall of stone blocks. Steam rose from within the square, and she could make out the shimmery surface of water turned cloudy from heat. She watched the torchlight catch in the clouds of steam, soft golden patches hanging in the air. She looked around for a few moments, suddenly grounded and calm with Sven's heavy hand on her shoulder. Warmth embraced her battered bones under his palm, and she felt secure that he would defend her against any who would attack. His gesture was almost fatherly, instead of the threat she had originally perceived. The walls were also made of stone, with no windows to speak of. Torches hung high, casting shadows in the lowest regions of the room. She was so busy inspecting that she was unaware of the woman storming towards her until they collided. R'en squawked as she fell to the ground, her hindquarters aching from the impact. She shook her head, staring up at the woman who had knocked her.

She gazed up at a tall figure of an Orc woman with a strong upper body, a result of years of swinging heavy two-handed weapons. The woman was carved like a male, muscular beyond the usual feminine body, which was highlighted by pale green skin. Her face was squared, although it held elements of softness. Her small, angled eyes were the colour of steel and moonlight mixed into a stunningly soft whole, softened further by a discreet brow. It was a shock to inspect her harsh nose, which was pointed with high nostrils. Like most of her kind, her bottom jaw jutted out, with two bottom canine standing over her small, luscious lips like mountains. R'en could only quake as she inspected the woman's bald head, save the ponytail and a stripe running along the crown of her head.

"You could have gone around me!" R'en stated, pouting up at the Orc. The room suddenly went silent, and the other bodies she had ignored suddenly seemed to cave in on her. The silence was deafening, maddening and unsettling all at once. Not even Sven stood up as the Orc glared down at her, crossing her massive arms over her chest as if she could deflect the very knowledge of R'en's existence with the gesture. Nobody dared speak as the Orc stared down at the Elf, expression utterly furious. R'en swallowed nervously, trying to still her shaking limbs as well as ignore the chains she was still bound by. The Orc seemed to take silent note of the chains for a few moments before she bent down, grabbing the chains and lifting with a single arm. R'en grunted as the Orc pulled the chains to her chest, putting her face directly in R'en's. The smell of the Orc's breath was not altogether unpleasant, yet R'en winced as it touched her face. It was a threat, a huff of breath instead of calm breathing.

"She's fucked" R'en heard Sven whisper. Valus simply shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the scene unfold. Suddenly R'en was afraid for her life, which she had never held much value for. She lowered her gaze to the Orc's smooth cheeks, hoping she wouldn't appear as if she were insulting the larger woman.

"You should watch where you are going, Maggot! I would carve through you in the Arena, when that day comes. For now wash your scrawny little body and quake in the presence of Sharl Gra-Muzga, The Demon of the pits!" the female Orc bellowed. R'en closed her eyes as droplets of spittle hit her face, a warm shower that she had not desired. The Orc let her chains go with a violent jolt of her hands, and with another yelp R'en found herself back on her hind quarters. The Orc glared around the room for a few moments before she stormed back the way she came, pausing to grab a wet rag from the baths edge. Sven and Valus instantly walked to R'en's side, picking her up without a second thought.

"You're lucky she didn't try to kill you" Valus stated simply.

"Ever since they bred her to the Champion of the Imperial City Arena in Cyrodiil she has done nothing but attack everyone. She definitely has problems. Its best you avoid her until you are officially welcomed into the family, bathed in blood from the Arena. Sharl enjoys killing too much, and that's coming from a Gladiator of over twenty years" Sven added. R'en gazed after the back of the Orc, curiosity raging in her veins despite the overwhelming fear. Valus shook his head, pinning his serious gaze on R'en as he spoke.

"That is a tale for another day. For now, rabbit, welcome to your grave"

**AN: Third Chapter up. If anyone is reading to here please rate and review. I really would love all the advice and opinions I could get. **


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